


Together

by wicksqua



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Asexuality, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 08:58:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14997371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wicksqua/pseuds/wicksqua
Summary: Kuroo's sad. Kenma loves him.





	Together

Kenma wasn’t even doing anything. Kenma wasn’t—he was sitting on a bench, playing one of his games. Kenma often wasn’t doing anything, just sitting by himself, being himself, there on a bench with his bowed head, somehow exuding so much of his aura that Kuroo couldn’t help but constantly be aware of him. Kenma was often a soothing, calming presence in Kuroo’s life. Sometimes, like now, Kuroo looked at Kenma and wanted to scream.

“Hey,” Kuroo said, jogging over. His bag bounced on his hip, a little painful.

Kenma pressed a few buttons, then looked up. His eyes were still. His whole body was still, really, just his neck raised to a high angle, everything else unmoving. He tilted his head, and regarded Kuroo. He looked at Kuroo slowly, a little longer than usual, just watching, tiny little eye flicks around his face. Orange eyes.

“Hey,” Kenma said, looking back down.

Kuroo breathed out hard, and collapsed next to Kenma on the bench.

“What’re you playing?” He asked, leaning over Kenma’s shoulder.

“Glade Quest,” Kenma said, glancing at Kuroo.

Kuroo hmmed, and moved himself a little closer.

Kenma glanced at him again, then went back to it. Kuroo watched him for a while. Gradually tuning out the chatter around him, watching Kenma’s fingers press steadily at the keys. It was continual, the key-pressing, and repetitive, the pattern of it. Click-click-click, click-click-click—

“You running?” Kenma said, and Kuroo startled.

“Uh, no? We did plenty of that in practice. Why?”

Kenma nodded at Kuroo’s leg, which was bouncing.

Kuroo shook his head, smiling. “You choose now to have it bother you? I’ve been doing it for years.” He looked away, out at the clusters of students trickling out from the school exit. “Isn’t Yaku coming, though? He’s late.”

Kenma shrugged. “Texted me he had to cancel; something to do with Lev.”

Kuroo grinned. “Dragged him in for more practice, no doubt. But hey, you should have said! Got too engrossed in your game, huh?”

“Waiting for you,” Kenma said, still clicking buttons, moving his character around onscreen.

Kuroo looked at him, looked at the game, looked back at him. Kenma liked playing games better at his house than at school—he liked to curl up in his bed, said it reduced the glare on the screen.

“Well, I’m here now,” Kuroo said finally, grinning, and realized how close he was sitting to Kenma when he knocked elbows with him on the way up. Kenma shot him a glare.

“Sorry, sorry!” Kuroo threw up his hands up in apology. Kenma clicked some more buttons, and closed the game.

“Homewards,” Kuroo declared, sweeping closer to Kenma again as they started walking. It felt better walking now than it had half an hour ago. Longer steps, smoother strides, though part of him still wanted to move as swiftly as possible, cover ground, reach, move.

Kenma touched Kuroo’s bag briefly, light enough that Kuroo mostly saw it, rather than felt the pressure at his hip. “It’s light,” Kenma muttered. 

“What, my bag?” Kuroo asked, confused.

Kenma shrugged. “Meet me at my place?” he said. “I forgot we’re out of milk, my mom said to get some. Meiji, the green one. I’ll have to go to the store.”

“Oh, I could get that for you,” Kuroo said, looking down at Kenma fondly. It was rare enough that he remembered a reminder from his mother; Kenma was often forgetful about most things unless dragged along. Forgetful probably wasn’t the best term—it was halfway purposeful, Kenma’s forgetting, sometimes remembered and sometimes just abandoned.

“I can carry your bag,” Kenma offered, reaching for it, sliding his DS safely into his pocket.

“You don’t have to,” Kuroo said, drawing back.

“You can get to my place faster,” Kenma said, looking at him again, and Kuroo laughed.

“Can’t wait to start studying? On a Friday?” Kenma just looked at him. “Well, if you insist,” he said, shrugging, sliding it up and over. Practice was over, weekend was starting, and Friday afternoons he spent at Kenma’s. Well, most days he spent at Kenma’s, if they weren’t working together at Kuroo’s. But mostly they were at Kenma’s.

Kenma raised the back over his left shoulder, so the two of them crisscrossed his chest. He looked down at them, frowning.

“Very balanced, very armor-esque,” Kuroo told him, grinning. “It’s a good look on you.”

Kenma did his head-tilt again at him again. Kuroo wondered what Kenma was thinking—that comment should have earned him one of Kenma’s skeptical glances, maybe even a tiny smile.

“Hurry back,” was all Kenma said, and started walking towards their houses. Kuroo watched him go—less wanting to scream: interacting with Kenma always made him feel better than when he was just watching him and wanting things from him. The real Kenma, the Kenma who reacted to things, was much better than the halo Kenma in his head. That Kenma was maddening, wouldn’t move for hours, would stare at him for hours, would ignore him, would look at him like he was a puzzle piece that wouldn’t fit—anyway. Kuroo didn’t know what was up with his imaginary Kenma, and he wasn’t going to know. He was going to go to the grocery store, and buy milk. The green one, obviously.

 

\--

 

Kuroo liked Kenma. Kuroo liked Kenma never-ending like a thousand suns, forever, always, ever and ever and ever. Like inevitability and chaos, except Kenma wasn’t chaotic, Kenma was the eye of in the center of every storm. Kuroo liked Kenma like he needed to breathe—it wasn’t healthy, certainly, though Kuroo didn’t think it was unhealthy either. It was just the way it was, the way it had always been. 

That was part of the problem, really. Kuroo had revolved around Kenma since they were children, staring into Kenma’s wide eyes with mud-splattered hands and decided to—it was a decision, then—decided to orbit. Kuroo had orbited when they were children, orbited when they were middle-schoolers, orbited when they were high-schoolers, and here they were, and Kuroo was orbiting in the same way. Either it should have faded or it should have evolved, Kuroo thought. Should have faded—Kuroo couldn’t imagine—or should have evolved into something other than it was, which was that Kuroo wanted his hands all over Kenma, but didn’t want Kenma’s hands all over him. Well, he sort of did. Maybe. It was confusing, he didn’t know.

Kuroo ran faster. There wasn’t time for thinking when running, and his school shirt was going to get sweaty, but he was running anyway. Faster, faster—street signs passing him by, the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement, his breath harsh and rhythmic. He didn’t like listening to his breath, it made him slow down with how human it felt, how much it reminded him that he was a bag full of living molecules which could break down at any moment. He didn’t want to think about Kenma, either—well, not really—oh, there was the yellow sign. The other yellow sign. Run faster, stride harder.

Kuroo arrived at the store, panting. He had a school jacket over his shirt—he wiped his face quickly, then pronounced himself fit to enter. The air was cold inside the store, headed as he was to the back wall. He paid for the milk—the green kind—and walked back out, his shirt sticking to his back. He looked down the milk—it’d make his running uneven. He shrugged, holding it to his chest like a baby. Did he still want to run?

He took off running.

 

\--

 

“Locked out?” Kuroo asked when he got back, because Kenma was sitting outside on his steps with his DS. Kuroo had slowed down a block before he reached Kenma’s house, and now was ambling over. He’d still probably have to beg off to shower again, first, but he could dry his hair a little and Kenma wouldn’t be the wiser.

Kenma looked up, and eyed him up a down—a full-body sweep—and Kuroo frowned.

“No,” Kenma said finally, not moving.

Kuroo quirked an eyebrow at him. “And if I asked for the time, the proper response would obviously be ‘yes’. What’s up?”

Another head-tilt. Kuroo kept his frown internal, this time, but something was wrong. He didn’t—something was wrong.

“Would you…” Kenma said, still looking at him. Orange eyes, prolonged eye contact.

“Yeah?”

“Would you also mind getting tangerines?”

Kuroo raised both eyebrows at that.

“Kenma, you don’t even like tangerines,” he said.

Kenma looked down at his game again. “I do.”

“You do? You never eat many when we have them.”

“Well, you and your sister exist, so…” 

Ah, there it was. Kuroo grinned at Kenma, relieved. Kenma had been the source of so many of Kuroo’s childhood nicknames—the “resident garbage disposal” moniker had been a family favorite, and lasted for _years._ His sister always argued for Kenma’s other side when they had family dinner, to better collect Kenma’s murmured commentary. Maybe he shouldn’t, but Kuroo liked it when Kenma’s snarky little remarks were directed at him.

“You know I just went to the store,” he told Kenma, in case Kenma had forgotten.

“In suspiciously fast time, too. I want tangerines,” Kenma told his game.

“Uh huh. Why can’t you get your own tangerines?” Kuroo asked, adding some tone to it. Testing, teasing.

Kenma looked up. And stared at him again. Kuroo shifted—something was—

“I’ll get the tangerines,” Kuroo said quickly.

“Uh huh,” Kenma echoed, softly. Still looking at him.

“Go wait in your room, though. I’ll meet you there after,” Kuroo told him.

“Yeah,” Kenma said, and broke eye contact, pushing off the step to go unlock the door.

 

\--

 

Tangerines were orange- _step_ -orange- _step_ -orange- _step_ and Kenma’s eyes were orange- _step_ -orange- _step_ -orange- _step_ and Kuroo would say that the tension had come back except it really hadn’t left in the first place, just had a series of momentary reprieves and something was up with Kenma. And that was—that was something, wasn’t it, and it made him want to slow down and think about it a little, but also there was energy and movement but he was starting to get tired, now, a little, and if he did a quick circuit through the park before he got there, it’d take a little longer. Man, with practice and now two runs to the store, Kenma was a crazy one, wasn’t he…

 

\--

 

Kuroo didn’t bother to do anything but towel-dry his hair after his shower before walking over to Kenma’s. His limbs were heavier now, and he hadn’t been wearing the right shoes. He felt like falling into Kenma’s bed with him, really—falling into their usual routine of watching Kenma play a little bit before Kuroo bothered him into doing his homework.

The front door was unlocked, and Kuroo made his way up the stairs to Kenma’s room. Kenma’s door was also unlocked—not that he needed to keep it closed yet, since his parents weren’t home, but Kuroo closed it behind him anyway.

“Tangerines,” Kuroo said, tangling them from his hand. “I hope you’re happy.”

Kenma was sat on the bed, game in hand. He gave Kuroo a quick little body sweep—again?—but then looked up and smiled. One of his tiny little smiles Kuroo hadn’t seen all day. Hadn’t seen in a while, actually, now that he thought about it. It made something in Kuroo glow, that curve of lips on Kenma.

“Thanks,” Kenma said, then went straight back to his game. Kuroo smiled reflexively at him, then put the tangerines on the desk.

“Come on, then,” Kenma said, and Kuroo stopped hesitating in the middle of the room and went to sit by Kenma. He stacked some pillows behind his back and leaned next to him on the wall.

Some time passed—some number of minutes, not more than five. Kenma’s character died, then he said, “Kuroo.”

“Kenma.”

“You…”

“You okay?” Kuroo asked him, because Kuroo took care of Kenma, he always had, and Kenma was acting weird and the atmosphere now was worrying and Kuroo hadn’t seen Kenma smile in a while and this was something he hadn’t noticed, and all of these were problems. Kuroo snuck in a little closer to Kenma, to provide support.  

Kenma looked up at him. “I’m fine,” he said. “I…”

Kuroo didn’t say anything, kept his gaze encouraging.

Kenma looked back down again. “What was going on last month?”

“Last month?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean…” Kuroo racked his brain. Schoolwork wasn’t any worse now than it had been, and volleyball wasn’t excessively different. His family was fine, work was fine, Kenma was... Kenma was only acting weird today though, and the team was fine.

“Nothing? I don’t think anything has changed. Did you have something in mind?”

“Oh.” Kenma frowned a little—very slight. “I guess I was… um. What’s… what’s going on right now, then?”

“Now?”

Kenma glanced up. “Yes, Kuroo, now please repeat after me.”

Kuroo waved a hand at him, a pretend-smack. “Nothing’s going on right now, either. ‘Cept you, of course, you’re asking me questions.”

Kenma didn’t produce any expression at all, went back to staring down at his hands. He looked over at Kuroo’s hands, too, on his lap.

“You feeling better, then? Now that you ran?”

Kuroo, face unobserved, frowned and also looked down at his hands. They’d tensed a little, and he relaxed them.

“What are you talking about?”

Kenma huffed. “Your hands are calmer, now. You too. You’ve been, like, restless.”

“Oh.” Kuroo said. “You noticed?”

Kenma huffed louder. “Of course I noticed. You…”

Kenma’s eyes came up, the head-tilt came up, and then something resolved in his face. “Kuroo.” He said. “Go lean against the headboard.”

There was something unexpectedly firm in it, the way Kenma rarely got. Kuroo, frowning, moved from the wall he was balanced against to lean against the headboard.

“Move your legs apart,” Kenma said, nudging them. Kuroo did that too. “No, not like that, lean backwards, use pillows, come on.”

“Well, if you’d tell me what I’m doing—“

“Make yourself comfortable, it’s exactly like what you were doing with the side wall, just on the headboard. I’m bringing my game, don’t worry." 

“Ooh, good, I was worried about body-snatchers for a moment—“

Kenma eye-rolled at him, and Kuroo grinned in delight. Such a wonderful occurrence, the eye roll, he could almost taste how nice it was—and then Kenma was leaning back into him, Kenma’s back against Kuroo’s chest, and it was warm and overwhelming and _warm_ , and Kenma, and—and—they had never done this before.

“…Kenma?”

“Now wrap your arms around me. But don’t restrict my playing.”

Kuroo did as instructed. It felt wonderful, and new, and warm, and wonderful. Kuroo had no idea what Kenma was doing.

“And now relax. And, like… um. Do whatever it is that you were wanting to do a month ago. With the sitting close and everything. Or. Um. Whatever you… were wanting to do. I—yeah.”

Kenma flipped open the screen rapidly, and began impatiently waiting for the load-up screen. His fingers were trembling, just a little. 

Kuroo very carefully moved his hands lower on Kenma’s sides, and squeezed slightly. Kenma. This was _Kenma_. He was unexpectedly solid, and warm, and smelled good. Kuroo lowered his head a little, brushing against Kenma’s hair. It was soft. Everything was soft and warm. _Kenma._

“Yeah,” Kenma breathed, quietly, and Kuroo listened to the echo and realized he’d said that out loud.

“Whatever you’d… want to do,” Kenma whispered. “Do it. It’s okay. I—it’s okay.”

Kenma couldn’t mean that. Kenma couldn’t mean—Kuroo wanted to shove his face into Kenma’s hair, and breath it in, and smush his face up in it, and grab him, and hold him, and squeeze him, Kenma—

“I mean it,” Kenma murmured, when Kuroo still hadn’t moved, and Kenma was slowly clicking through the loading options. “Don’t make me say it again, making me repeat myself is annoying, Kuroo, come on.”

And it was teasing, and it was Kenma, and Kuroo wrapped his arms tight around Kenma and _squeezed._

Kenma grunted, surprised, then relaxed into the hold. His grip loosened on the game, before he regripped. “Hmmm,” he hummed at Kuroo, a pleased little noise, and Kuroo grinned into his hair and began moving his hands up and down Kenma’s sides. “Kenma,” he mumbled. 

Kenma breathed out, and leaned back. Kuroo rubbed his cheek slightly against his hair, and slid his face around to see Kenma’s eyes drifting closed. Black eyelashes, and they’d always been pretty.

Kuroo was being careful—hands moving along Kenma’s sides only, and his arms, and face in Kenma’s hair… his neck, surely, was okay, and Kuroo nosed at it, and it was so warm, and smelled good, smelled like what, didn't matter, good and sweet. And then Kenma shifted against him, and sort of shimmied, and Kenma really was warmly along his front, all the way, except now Kenma was rubbing against Kuroo a little, and Kenma made a noise and pushed his head to the side and Kuroo was startled and moved his arm downward center and—

Oh. Shit. _Shiiiiiiiiiiit._

Kuroo froze. Kenma froze. Everything in the world froze, except the tick of the clock somewhere in the house, and the traitorous thought that floated into the complete blankness that was Kuroo’s mind was _Kenma’s still warm_.

“You’re. Not.” Kenma said, sounding mortified, which was a subtle inflection on Kenma, because he didn’t do it very often, but the fact was indeed that Kuroo was. Not.

“Um.”

“I’m—Kuroo, I’m—sorry, I,“ Kenma was executing far more jerky motion effort than he ever did on the court, trying to unwrap his arm from within Kuroo’s, trying to scramble away from Kuroo’s lap, taking his warmth away with him, and his calm voice and his teasing voice and taking himself _away—_

“No, don’t, it’s fine—“

Except it wasn’t fine, really, was it, because Kuroo had _known_ this wasn’t right, Kuroo was either too much or too little, and apparently he wasn’t too much, now, since Kenma—was—but Kuroo was definitely too little, because Kenma— _…was_ —(hard, Kenma was hard, _Kenma_ )— but Kenma—Kuroo—he shouldn’t have said anything, it would have been fine, they shouldn’t have—

Kenma was daring himself to look at Kuroo’s face, he could tell, and he was also withdrawing, and looking scared, and was saying: “I’m sorry, I misunderstood, I just, you were—you’ve been _looking_ , and I didn’t know—it made sense at the time, I—Kuroo—“

“Kenma, just—“

Kuroo wanted Kenma near, and Kuroo was responsible for Kenma, Kuroo always had been, and Kuroo was _responsible for Kenma,_ wasn’t he, and when _Kenma was upset_ then Kuroo was responsible for that, _wasn’t_ he, and when Kenma was upset—

“Kenma, here, just, it’s fine, come here,” And Kuroo reached out for Kenma, because he was responsible, wasn’t he, and Kenma was upset, and something in Kuroo’s face must have convinced him, because Kenma came just a little bit closer from where he was on the other end of the bed, and Kuroo moved himself away from the headboard and against the sidewall, and scooped Kenma up, and touched him just like normal when Kenma was upset, just hugged him, because this was Kenma. 

They sat silently, for a few moments, Kuroo holding Kenma. Kuroo picked up Kenma’s closed DS from the side, and handed it to him, and Kenma held it, knuckles white at the edges of the bone.   

“Hey,” Kuroo said, eventually.

“Yeah,” Kenma mumbled, face hidden in Kuroo’s sleeve.

“I—you were right, there was something that came up for me a few months ago.”

Kenma didn’t move, but he pressed harder against Kuroo’s arm.

“About… well, you, I guess, but also me.”

“Hm,” Kenma said, a voiced sound. Encouragement.

“I… want you.”

Kenma tensed.

“Sort of. But not like—like, more recently, but not different? Like, I don’t know, just. Um.”

Kenma relaxed, and pulled away a little. Kuroo was starting to panic, grasping for him, but Kenma just turned his head to face him.  

“More words,” Kenma said, eyes downcast. Then he looked up, made eye contact like _whoa_ , gave that tiny smile: “Better words.”

“Oh,” Kuroo said.

Kenma shook his head, and pulled away some more, rotating in Kuroo’s arms. They were very close. Orange eyes, gold eyes.

“I want you,” Kenma said. “You… saw. But. Okay. You want me. How do you want me?”

“I…”

Kenma placed his hands very softly on top of Kuroo’s, and Kuroo looked down at them.

“I’m not going to make fun of you. What do you want, though? Specifically. What’s a specific thing you want. Wanted. One thing.”

“I want to hold you.” Kuroo blurted.

Kenma smiled at him. Larger than the tiny smile. Kuroo was getting spoiled.  
  
“I want to… touch you.”

Kenma did the head-tilt at him. God damn it, Kuroo was done with the head tilt.

“I—okay, something’s wrong with me, okay, because what I actually want to do is, like, roll around in you. And hold you. And have you tease me and you—like me, and, and make fun of me, and touch you, and hug you, and I know it’s weird, and I just want to, hold you so, so much, and orange—you’re—“

“Shhh,” Kenma said, and reached out for him, and it was the first time ever that Kuroo could remember that Kenma reached out and hugged him, because Kuroo was responsible and it was the other way around.

“Okay,” Kenma said, after a little bit of awkward movement, because Kenma was shorter than Kuroo, and they were facing each other, and their legs were in the way. “Okay. You want to hold me.”

“Yeah.”

“And touch me all over, and roll around in me.”

“I—“ Kuroo’s cheeks were getting hot. It sounded so stupid.

“And you like it when we talk, and tease each other.”

Where was this coming from? Kenma’s face was blushing, but Kuroo couldn’t even.

“Okay. Okay.” Kenma took a breath in, and breath out.

“Okay,” Kenma said again. “I think… okay. Could you… we can, we can do this, tomorrow. Could you…” Kenma sighed again, slowly. “Could you go get two bowls from downstairs, Kuroo, and the tangerines from the desk? The black bowls.”

Kuroo looked at him, puzzled. Then Kuroo smiled, a little. “I think you can get the tangerines yourself,” he said. “Just a second ago you were really into—“ and Kuroo had meant to say _moving,_ because Kenma didn’t usually like moving, right, except he’d been really energized earlier, except, oh my god, this was far too early, and besides—“uh, I mean, I didn’t—“

“Go get the bowls,” Kenma said, the tips of his ears bright red.

“Yes,” Kuroo said, nodding and backing out the door, backing into it first and then back out.

Kenma had gotten the tangerines by the time he got back, and Kuroo slipped through the door quietly, and closed it behind them. Kenma scooted over on the bed—he was leaning against the side wall again, and Kuroo sat down in the empty spot. Warm.

“Here,” Kenma said, handing him a tangerine. “For your endless stomach.”

When Kuroo reached for it, Kenma slid over until they were pressed together, arm to arm. Kenma attempted to twine his leg over Kuroo’s, too, but it didn’t work with the length of their legs and the edge of the bed. Kuroo looked down at their legs, fondly.

“You’re adorable,” Kuroo said, because he never let himself think it. He looked over in time to see Kenma wrinkle his nose, looking annoyed at himself and his burning cheeks.

“Well, tangerines are your favorite food,” Kenma grumbled, and Kuroo couldn’t see how that was any retort at all. 

“Can I feed one to you?” Kuroo asked, with a bit of his normal leer, because Kenma had picked up his DS again and also Kenma was blushing and also Kuroo really wanted to grab him but that didn’t feel appropriate and also Kuroo really wanted to.

“Shut _up,_ ” Kenma said, and actually elbowed him, and Kuroo laughed and laughed as Kenma’s ears glowed red. As Kenma snatched the tangerine out of his fingers and chewed. As Kenma rolled his eyes at him. As those eyes glanced up fondly once and then down, glowing gold, and gold, and gold.


End file.
